


Hold Me Up

by AngeloftheOdd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, season 4, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeloftheOdd/pseuds/AngeloftheOdd
Summary: Originally written in 2010. After his encounter with Famine, Dean finds himself losing faith.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Hold Me Up

by AngeloftheOdd

Those inquisitive eyes were staring at him again. For all of Cas' powers, it seemed as if his so-called guardian angel could never tell exactly what was on his mind. Dean was always happy to take solace in that fact. That at least he could lord something...anything... over the annoying bastard. Unfortunately it also meant that he was a constant point of fascination to Cas. And those bright blue eyes were filled with questioning. An intense longing for answers Dean wasn't sure he could properly give.

Cas had been so child-like in his belief, and, in his own anger and frustration Dean had ripped the veil from his eyes and left him with nothing to cling to. Except for Dean himself. For all they'd been through, he couldn't help but look at the angel with a mixture of pity and loathing. He hadn't asked for any of this. He hadn't asked to be saved. But now they were in this together and there was no going back.

"Cas," Dean sighed. "What's the matter now?"

"I am scared, Dean. I am confused," the angel replied.

"It's okay to be confused, Cas. Hell I've spent my entire existence not knowing what tomorrow is going to bring. Most people do."

"I am not a person."

Dean shook his head. Sometimes Cas' responses made his head ache. For as long as he could remember Dean was the babysitter. And as far as he was concerned he had done a shit job when it came to looking after the people that mattered most to him. He had tried in vain to give Sam the normal life he so sorely deserved. Failed at saving his father from making the final deal with Azazel. Failed at stopping his mother from dying that horrible night. Pam had died right before his eyes. Jo and Ellen too. Bobby was going to spend the rest of his life in a wheel-chair because he, Dean Winchester, was always just too late to help the people he loved. Why should things be any different with Cas? Why was he even feeling that familiar feeling of protection welling up within him?

"No," Dean said, more bitterly than he meant to. "I keep forgetting. You're divine."

"Not anymore," Cas replied, simply.

"Goddammit, Cas. You really need to learn to understand sarcasm."

"Why?"

"Look...buddy, all I'm saying is just have a little faith, okay?"

"I do. I am an angel, Dean."

Dean sighed. It was hard to stay mad at the guy no matter how much he got on his nerves. He was truly innocent in his questions, completely oblivious that they might rankle the older Winchester the wrong way.

"Not just in God," Dean said. "I meant in yourself as well."

He placed a friendly hand on the angel's shoulder and was surprised to see him flinch away.

"Why are you...touching...me?"

"Just a friendly sign of encouragement, Cas."

To Dean's surprise, Cas smiled. He was actually almost laughing.

"Are you trying to comfort me?" he asked.

"Well yeah," Dean replied. "It's what friends do."

Cas seemed to be contemplating the statement made. He had heard the word many times in many languages. Had seen how people seemed to connect with one another in such a manner. He had once considered Uriel his friend. But he had been wrong.

"Thank you, Dean. I am glad we are friends."

"Don't mention it," Dean answered. "Just don't get all misty eyed and emotional over it."

Dean stared up at the familiar ceiling of Bobby's house. Smiling briefly at the memory. Why, of all the thoughts rushing through his head, had that particular moment in time come back to him so vividly? Maybe, a cold chill flashed across his brain, because good memories of your brother are far too painful right now. Maybe Famine was right all along. Maybe memories are all you have left. That creature screaming and howling its desire for blood down in the basement is no longer Sammy. The silent man in the corner draining drink after drink is no longer Bobby. Are you even yourself anymore, Dean Winchester?

He felt a sudden weight resting on his shoulder and he looked up to find Cas standing over him.

"Can't you use a door like everyone else, Cas?"

"I am sorry. You looked confused," the angel replied. He didn't bother to remove his hand from where it lay.

His gaze locked with Cas' and he found himself smiling. Well, Cas was still Cas that was for sure. Funny how someone who often left him for weeks at a time, who vanished in the middle of conversations, was now the one and only reliable thing in his life.

"Don't you dare leave," Dean said. "Not tonight."

Cas nodded. It was not in his nature to refuse Dean, and if it was his company he wanted it was certainly one of the more simpler requests the man had asked of him. He glanced over at Bobby's prone form, head down on his work desk in a blissful alcohol-fueled slumber.

"If you wish to talk, Dean. Perhaps outside is best."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I don't want to be here if Sammy starts up again anyways."

Laying on the hood of the Impala and staring up at the night sky had always been one of the few solaces Dean had shared with his brother. Doing the same now with Cas just wasn't the same. Oh, he loved Sam fiercely despite it all. He was family after all. He missed how things used to be. But there was never any use for nostalgia. All those little moments of peace and the belief that things might just turn out alright in the end...they were eating him alive inside. Because nothing ever turned out alright. Having Cas resting next to him was a cause of both comfort and heartache.

"I am sorry I cannot make you as happy as your brother, Dean," the angel said.

Dean had let his guard down. Was he so obvious that even Cas had picked up on his grief? Yet there had been something sad in Cas' statement. Dean had spent so much time lately dealing with his own messed up emotions that he hadn't even bothered to consider that Cas had picked up a few of his own during his time on earth.

"Nah, Cas," he said. "I'm glad you're here. I mean that."

"Why do you look up at the stars? Do you not find it boring?"

Dean laughed softly, shaking his head.

"I don't expect you to get it, Cas," he said. "It used to make me feel like there was something bigger out there. Like maybe there was something watching over us all."

"I suppose the mystery was somewhat ruined when you discovered it was me," the angel replied. There was a hint of a grin in his expression.

Dean propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at his companion.

"Did you just try to crack a joke, Cas?" he asked. "And maybe the sense of wonder is a bit gone but...I guess it was a pleasant surprise."

"I think I do understand, Dean. Eons of watching humans...I could never comprehend their mystery either. But meeting you changed that."

"We're a sorry lot, aren't we?" Dean asked not even trying to suppress a snort of contempt.

"You shouldn't say that," Cas said. "I once said I saw only suffering and misery here. But there is so much more...there is happiness, loyalty, friendship. You were right. Before they were only words to me but now that I have felt them..."

"You are telling me I'm right?" Dean said, laughing. "Wow. That's a switch."

"You have taught me much," Cas replied. "I owe you far more than I could ever give back to you."

The angel's eyes went wide as he felt Dean's arms suddenly around him. Holding him. Fingers clutching the fabric of his coat tightly, causing him to lurch forward into the man's embrace. He sat there stiffly, unsure of what to do. Dean was crying softy against his shoulder and some foreign instinct within him made him reach up and stroke the other's hair. Awkwardly, Cas managed to free his arm from Dean's grip and he placed it around his friend's neck, pulling him closer.

"I have said something to upset you?" the angel asked, confused.

"Just shut up, Cas," Dean answered between broken sobs.

He knew he was clinging to the only salvation he had left.


	2. Overcome

A breaking man. A falling angel. The two were sitting face to face with one another, unsure of what to say. Perhaps, Dean thought, there was a simple beauty in the fact that nothing needed to be said. Cas may not have understood much about the world of humans, but he sure as hell understood Dean. Reading his every movement. Knowing when he was needed most. Dean had noticed it more and more lately. And some small part of him wanted to give into that tempting glow of safety that he had felt in Cas' arms. To let the macho bravado slip away. Just one more time...

Cas finally broke the silence. Seemingly nervous that by speaking he might upset the hunter further.

"Dean...I..I am not sorry for what I said. I am only sorry that it caused you pain."

Dean shook his head, wiping away the last of his tears.

"You stupid son of a bitch, Cas," he said, words marked by bitter laughter. "Don't apologize. I'm the one who's sorry. It's nice to know someone feels that way about me."

"I am sure I am not the only one, Dean. You have helped many."

"I haven't helped you at all, Cas. You did it all yourself."

"No," Cas said, "You were right about me. I am used to blindly following orders. I do not like being without a direction. A purpose. You are my purpose now, Dean."

"Dude," Dean replied, chuckling. "You have absolutely no idea how gay that sounds do you?"

He laughed again at the angel's confused expression. It was crazy, he knew it, but hearing Cas say those words sent a twinge of longing through him. Absently his hand wandered to the red welt on his shoulder that was Cas' own hand-print. He had spent nights staring at the raw, puckered scar in utter contempt. Marked by Heaven. A cold reminder of the servitude he had promised to them. No. Not to Heaven. He had made that promise to Cas. Only Cas. The thought of belonging to him was slightly more bearable. And now the angel was confessing that he too belonged to Dean. What a glorious mess they had gotten themselves into.

"Is that really how you feel?" Dean asked. "You're one sad bastard if you think that I'm all there is down here."

"I am not sad at all, Dean," the angel replied. "I am at peace when I am by your side."

"Even when you're being tossed around six ways from Sunday getting involved in our little skirmishes?"

The hunter was smiling now. Teasing. It was far easier to make Cas angry and cause him to flee than to deal with those deep eyes forever reaching into his very soul. But the angel wasn't angry. He was chuckling softly.

"Even then," was the reply.

"Why, Cas? Why me? Is it because you think I'm special? The supposed vessel of Michael? The son of the cursed Winchester line? My life has become some kind of entertaining peep show for angels and demons?"

Dean nearly cried out as the angel repeated the motions he himself had made earlier. Drawing him into the welcoming circle of his arms. The rough scratch of stubble against his cheek. The hot wetness of his breath against his ear.

"No. Because every emotion I have ever felt. Every single one of them...were caused by you, Dean."

"Is this the part where you kick my ass?" the hunter asked, hoping to God that it was something that simple.

Oh he knew he had been the first to make Cas feel guilt. Irritation. Frustration... But sympathy, joy, camaraderie had been shown along the way too. Every one as intense as the last. Emotions that came so swiftly and naturally to Dean himself. But to Cas it must have been overwhelmingly powerful.

"I have no desire to harm you," Cas replied, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "I desire to..."

"Don't finish that sentence," Dean interrupted. "You don't want to go there, Cas."

"Yes, Dean. I do."

There was no will left in Dean to fight it anymore. No denying Cas. No denying himself. If the angel was craving this, then Dean was going to make damn sure that he would teach him what satisfaction was as well. Desperately, he wanted to shove the bastard down on the hood of the car. Pin the captive angel beneath him and make him beg for this. Make him pay for sparking this lust in him. Instead, he found himself kissing softly into Cas' mouth, relishing in the low moan it elicited. It would be far more gratifying to take his time.

Dean watched the other's reactions with a growing interest. With the tables turned, Cas seemed at a loss, not knowing what to do. What was expected of him. Compliance replacing the forcefulness he had shown before. Dean's tongue darted in and out playfully across the angel's remarkably full and soft lips, savoring the taste. Then he pulled back, slowly, a grin creeping across his face at what he saw.

"Did you like that, Cas?" he asked.

His hand moved down to massage the angel's inner thigh, squeezing and kneading the muscles there through the black fabric. Snaking upwards until he firmly cupped the prominent bulge straining against the crotch of his pants.

"Hmmm. I think you did."

"It feels..." Cas began but was cut short.

"Like Heaven?" Dean teased, fingers working swiftly to free Cas from the confines of his clothing.

"No," Cas replied with a whimper. "It feels so much more...real."

I'm glad for you, Dean thought, nipping against the soft skin of the angel's neck. It feels like a dream to me. He wrapped his hand around Cas's length, stroking him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Causing him to cry out so sharply and suddenly he feared it would call out attention. But there was no conscious ears to hear them. No one except for the angels above with their cool indifference. He clamped his mouth down over Cas' in an effort to silence him and discovered he enjoyed the muffled cries of surprise and pleasure more than anything else. Enjoyed the way the other's warm and naked body felt under his touch. How easily he made him shake and tremble with barely any effort. More soft and submissive than any woman he had ever been with.

He can't control it, the thought suddenly hit Dean. He's going to finish before I even start.

"Dean," the words came out in a small whine. "Please...s-stop."

"What's the matter, bright eyes," the hunter answered, hand still remaining in place but movement ceased. "I warned you that you didn't want to go here."

"No," Cas replied, barely audible. "Not like this...I want you to...to teach me how to make you feel the same way."

"Oh believe me, Cas, I'm feeling it," Dean replied, easing him backwards. "I just have better control."

But I'm going to lose it if he keeps this up...I expected a quick passionate screw...to get it over and done with before I had the time to comprehend what was even happening. But now...he is trusting me to...to do what? To feel what? More than simple lust and the thrill of control over him...I can't stand the way he is looking up at me. You selfish dick...why now? Because I was vulnerable? Because we both were? Both are...

He snapped out of his reverie, realizing that Cas was tugging at his clothing in a futile attempt to remove it from his body. He obliged him in his wish, hastily undressing. Shivering at the feel of the angel's flawless skin against his own. Body arching upwards, hips rocking against his own, hardness brushing against his leg. Dean was only dimly aware of his own mounting need. Wanting more to again hear the sweet moans of new found ecstasy from the angel. His angel.

"Relax, Cas," he said. "Just close your eyes and relax."

Obediently the other did so. Still taut against him but muscles easing. Lips parted with breathy gasps for air. Thick eyelashes fluttering as he tried to focus his vision.

"That's better," Dean whispered, stroking his cheek.

He could feel the tremble it sent through Cas' body and the frantic urge within him rose again. Jolts of pleasure coursing through him as the angel's hands wandered across his back, exploring, discovering him. Feather-light touches giving rise to goose-bumps. Suddenly aware that Cas was studying him with a silent amazement. Steadily gaining more confidence as his lips brushed against the scarred skin of Dean's shoulder. Finally taking them both into his shaking hand, working them over together. Watching in a rapt wonder.

Ideals that had meant little to Dean before came flashing across his mind. Adoration. Worship. A single line from a book that had been nothing but mere words on paper to him before...Love is patient...Love is kind...

His hand rested over Cas', guiding him. Moving in time with him. Kissing slick, sweat-drenched skin. Breathing words of encouragement and appreciation. Trying to make it last as long as possible until one or both of them could take the delirious pleasure no longer. Each little twitch, every gasp, every gentle brush of fingers threatening to send him over the edge far sooner than he wanted to. Half praying that Cas would find his release first so he could witness the result it would bring to his beautiful flushed face. The thought of it sent him spiraling out of control and he let out a ragged gasp. Warmth and white light washing over him. Cas' voice rang out like a sweet song as he followed. Always following...always being led...

One had been raised back to earth. The other had fallen down to it. In the midst of salvation and damnation they clung to one another not daring to let go.


	3. Bodies of Clay

A good soldier. A good son. These were the key phrases that described a lifetime marred by loss. Keep fighting. For the good of the world. No pressure. There were times when Dean wondered if things would have just been simpler if he'd been left to rot in the pit. That he had deserved to stay in the clutches of Hell's hot fire. Part of him had longed for all the humanity left within him to be burned away. Sliced piece by piece from him just as the cold steel of Alistair's razor had done to his body. It would have been so much easier to have become a monster rather than a martyr. So much less painful...

Debt. That was what kept him going in those moments of doubt. He owed it to Sam to keep on going. To Bobby. To Cas. And sometimes he found himself hating them for it. He hadn't asked for their sacrifice. He dealt with things by himself. Despite Bobby's warnings that he was becoming more and more like his father. I love you Bobby but you aren't my father. No matter how much you try to be. Despite Sam's insisting and annoying pleas to let him share the burden. You're already half-way to Hell Sammy...You've refused to listen to me every step of the way. Why should I return the favour? Despite Cas' unwavering faith in him. You poor misguided fool. You're letting new-found emotions cloud your logic.

For one brief and infuriating moment he had let himself go. Almost believing the angel's words to him. Had almost let himself be deluded into thinking that there had been something other than carnal lust or the need for some kind of comfort in their actions. Dean had woken on the hood of the Impala, cold and alone. Enduring Bobby's jokes that he must have tied one on and had finally gone to make love to his favourite woman. He had laughed it off saying that perhaps moonshine wasn't the best of things to have been drinking in his state of mind. No one suspected. He wasn't sure what irked him more; the fact that nothing had changed between him and Cas or the fact that some part of him had wanted it to.

It was times like these when Dean was glad he wasn't a deep thinker. It was better to go along pretending nothing had happened at all. That Sam was perfectly in control of his own dark desires. That Cas might just leave well enough alone now that he had got what he had wanted from him. What he had wanted as well...

He stared up at the stained motel ceiling. Had they stayed here before? No matter where they went all the places were the same. Ugly paint chipped and cracked on too-narrow walls. Coffee-cup rings and cigarette burns on tramped down carpeting. The dull drone of electricity just barely managing to keep the room lit. 30 channels of nothing but bad static and cheap porn on a television set that had been lucky to survive the 20th century let alone the 21st. And he just wasn't up for a centennial viewing of "Casa Erotica" tonight.

The dim lamp flickered and Dean cursed. Sitting alone in the dark with these thoughts would have just capped the night off beautifully. For one brief moment he thought he caught the fleeting glimpse of shadowed wings bearing down on him. Could almost feel the soft rush of air from their gentle rustle against his cheek. The thought both intrigued and enraged him.

"Cas?" he called out.

As if he needed to ask.

"Yes," was the reply and the sound of the angel's voice sent Dean's heart pounding with anger but also with anticipation.

Then Cas was standing there, as stoic and as unreadable as always. Closer than the hunter felt was entirely appropriate but, hell, they'd already crossed that line hadn't they? If it had ever been there at all...

"We need to talk, Dean."

And there it was. Whenever he showed up with that expression it was never ever a good sign. His own personal messenger of bad news. Dean sighed, sitting up on the bed. So much for sleep tonight.

"Yeah, spit it out then. What is it now?" He had tried to sound irritated, but the tone ended up sounding more defeated.

A subtle flicker of sadness filled Cas' eyes and Dean instantly regretted his words.

"You are unhappy to see me..." the angel said.

"No, Cas, I'm not. I just have a feeling I'm not going to like what you have to say."

There seemed to be just a hint of amusement on Cas' face as he regarded the hunter.

Enigmatic as always. Dean couldn't tell if he was pleased that he hadn't been harshly rejected or if it was some well contained cheshire-cat grin. With Cas he could never tell. Part of Dean wanted to punch him in the face for it too. And yet another part of him, one that seemed to steadily be gaining more strength recently, simply wanted to be lost in that mystery.

"Perhaps not," Cas replied. "But you need to hear it nonetheless."

"Drop the act. We both know you didn't come here to lecture me."

The angel shook his head and damn it if his lips didn't curl further into a smile. Dean caught himself staring. Just a fraction longer than he really had intended to. Cas didn't do that often enough and the result truly was awe-inspiring. A small pang of amazement shivered up the hunter's spine in the knowing that he had caused it.

"Even if I did, Dean, would it truly matter? You have always had a knack for not listening to my requests."

"Those were Zack's requests," Dean corrected him. "Not yours. You've denied me nothing Cas...not you...I'd like to think I've done the same."

"Then we are...on the same page so to speak."

"Are we, Cas? Please tell me because I don't know what to think anymore."

Before Dean could comprehend what was going on, indeed before he had even finished closing his mouth and pushed the last breath of his statement out, he was in Cas' embrace. Warm lips meeting. Skin seeking skin. Cas wasn't very good with words but he had one hell of a way of expressing himself when he needed to. Dean's head was gently tilted upwards and he finally dared to open his eyes, unsure of what he was going to find lurking across the handsome features of the angel's face.

"I've found it better not to think, Dean," Cas said, calmly. "When what I feel makes far more sense to me."

Small noises of amusement escaped the hunter. Oh, Cas, I've taught you too well. Precisely the kind of line I'd use. In your case, however, it might just serve to get you exactly what you want. Because this isn't about what's right or wrong anymore. Good or evil. God or the devil. Heaven or Hell. This is about us...and it does make sense...and maybe that's all that matters.

"Tell me what you feel..." Dean said.

"I..." the angel stammered and the faintest hint of a blush spread across his face and up to his ears. Dean's stomach tightened at the sight of it. Confusion and finally frustration ruined the image of a schoolboy with a crush. "I can't. I don't know how to describe it."

"Then show me."

Dean's command had come out in a growl. Desperateness cracking the edges to make it more of a prayer than an order. And it was answered. Cas eased onto his lap, hips arching in a delicious grind of fabric against fabric. Feeling each others hardness pressing between them. Limbs entwining. Tongues tasting. Teeth nipping and teasing soft flesh. Breathy moans from Cas and throaty gasps from Dean. Fighting a gentle battle to see which one of them would break first. Neither side ready to relinquish so easily.

Finally, Cas pushed Dean backwards on to the bed in a motion so effortless and fast that it took the wind right out of the hunter. A ragged cry escaped him as fingers worked deftly to loosen his belt and slide down his pants and boxers. Making quick work of his shirt, until he was practically begging the angel to play fair and at least take off that damn coat. But years of waiting, watching, had given Cas a slight advantage in the field when it came to patience. And there was nothing more that he wanted now than to study everything that was Dean. Each little flutter of lashes the shadowed eyes filled with nothing but admiration for he, Castiel. Every whisper that caressed his name like a holy incantation. Every touch that signaled a need that he could and would fulfil.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean said. "Don't do this to me. Coming on all hot and heavy just to lead me on."

"You should learn some restraint," the angel replied. As if to emphasize the fact, he grabbed Dean by the wrists, pinning him softly to the bed. "You asked me to show you and I have yet to even begin."

Dean grinned, despite himself. Coming from anyone else it would have been a cocky statement, all puns intended. Coming from Cas, he knew that it was a dead-serious fact. He laid back, content to give the angel control. For once focusing his curiosity on Cas. Trusting him completely.

He wasn't disappointed. Pleasantly surprised at how tender the angel was. Inwardly, he wondered if that was the correct term to apply to Cas. Angels were cold. Angels were emotionless. Angels certainly did not trail hot kisses down naked skin as Cas was doing. And if they did, they sure wouldn't smile that sweetly or as happily in doing so.

Dean was mesmerized by the sight. Shakily laying a hand on Cas' head. For encouragement, he told himself. Definitely not because he was near losing control already and had to touch him somewhere...anywhere. The effect still produced the desired result. No, angels most assuredly did not do the types of things Cas was doing with his mouth now. Engulfing him in the warm wetness. Dean gasped, arching sharply at the contact. Jolts of pleasure shooting through him. You sly bastard, he thought I guess all those ages of playing voyeur to the human world must have paid off. What tumbled from his lips was far less articulate.

"Enough...Cas...please..." he begged. "Fuck that feels amazing...but not like this..."

And he knew right then and there he was forever lost. He, Dean Winchester, never turned down the chance at a good blowjob. He guided Cas' head upwards for fear of ending this far too soon. Cas' gaze found it's way to his. Wanting to see the hunter's reactions. Wishing to convey everything with that glance. The anger, the sadness, the longing...the joy, the exhilaration, the love...all of it directed to and pouring over Dean in a brilliant white wave until the hunter could no longer stand it and began pawing and tearing at Cas' clothes in a clumsy but successful attempt to remove them. Rolling on top of him in the struggle.

"Fuck restraint, Cas. I need this...I need you."

"I need you, Dean."

Belonging. Purpose. Home. Such untouchable, intangible notions. As ethereal and un-graspable as angel wings. Both had thought they knew what it meant but the aching in them for so long...so many unbearable years was quelled in the mere presence of the other. This was bliss. This was what heaven and it's endless Pleasantville of lies could never ever be. This was torture, cutting deeper than muscle or bone in a cruel twist that left the soul exposed and defenseless in ways Alistair couldn't have imagined in his most perverted dreams. This was the gift given only to humanity and humanity alone.

Same gray sheets on the bed, Dean noted mentally. They never looked more beautiful with Cas writhing on them. Legs wrapped tightly around Dean's back, as he rocked against him. Tempting him, daring him to finish this. The hunter hesitated, wanting nothing more than to plunge into him. Too afraid to.

"It's okay, Dean" Cas said. "Please..."

That was all the incentive Dean needed. The hisses of pleasure mixed with pain as he eased into his partner were nearly enough right then and there to push him over the edge. Fingers gripping into his skin so tightly they left ghosted impressions. Slowly, he began to move. Silencing Cas' feeble cries with a hungry kiss. Utterly entranced by the visage of the normally calm and composed creature beneath him screaming and moaning his name in rapture.

This was falling. Cas was certain of it. He could feel himself breaking which each thrust. And it was awesome and terrifying. He was plummeting down deeper into the fathomless depths. Wanting to call out a final time but finding that his voice failed him. Shaking apart as Dean rocked into him faster and harder. And God help him he had craved it. Yearned for it. Loved every dilirious moment. Then Dean's hands were on his shoulders. Holding him up in an unchaste parody of his own rescue. Burning against him. Inside him. Repeating his name over and over again in a delicate litany. Cas... No longer Castiel the angel of the Lord. And he knew Dean had saved him. Saved him from a lonely and eternal fate of quiet servitude.

Same paper-thin walls. Dean would wonder later on, as he lay there holding Cas tight against him, if the people in the neighbouring room heard the piercing cries of an angel descending and a man reborn.


End file.
